


In This, We Are Gentle

by Welsh_Woman



Series: January Jaunts [26]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Attempted Kidnapping, Implied Major Character Death (but he gets better!), Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welsh_Woman/pseuds/Welsh_Woman
Summary: For the prompt 'justaposition'
Relationships: implied Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Relationship
Series: January Jaunts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	In This, We Are Gentle

The warehouse is a macabre painting, making more than one of them retch when the door opens.

There are bodies littering the floor in various states of dismemberment, blood splattering floor, walls _and_ ceiling, with a dash of darker material that no one wants to look too closely at.

The bodies themselves are splayed in a ragged semi-circle, like this all started at one central point and just spread outwards. Or perhaps something had gotten so angry at their center, that there was a wave of pulsing energy that did all... _this_.

Swallowing hard against a rising tide of bile and horror, they raise their gaze to the dais that sits in the middle of the room.

 _ **Stiles**_ sits there.

Stiles sits there, covered in gore and viscera, blood tacky on his hands and a long smear over one cheek, like he had wiped a hand down his face, as he often does when overwhelmed or frustrated.

And, held tenderly in Stiles’ arms, is _Derek_.

Derek, who is meticulously and _very_ obviously clean. Not a scratch on him; not a mark, bruise, or even a splatter. If one cared to look, one could even see where an arterial spray just _stopped_ when it came near him.

Stiles was leaning down when they had entered the room, lips moving in a litany too low for them to hear, but almost as soon as they stepped forward, his head snapped up and they froze, something primal in their brains telling them that Stiles was still in whatever had made him do... what he did.

Staring at them for a good long while, his eyes dark and assessing as his hands - both glowing a steady amber - stay where they are; one pressed on Derek’s chest like it’s making sure there is a heartbeat, and the other gently running through the man’s hair, Stiles seems to decide that they aren’t worth the bloody retribution that he gave to the hunters around him.

Turning his back, he starts to whisper again, the silence of the room loud enough that they can actually hear what he’s saying this time.

“You can feel my magic, can’t you, big guy? Feel it healing you? Come on, _moj wilk,_ come back to me... _Jesteście zbyt cenni, aby tu zakończyć swój koniec._ Come on, Derek... _**Proszę...**_ ”

There is a weighted silence now, those that know Stiles know that he almost never speaks in his mother’s tongue because of the memories that it brings, so for him to do so now _must_ mean that-

His words get more desperate as the time passes, agony making already complicated phrases blur and wobble. They look among themselves, not sure if they should attempt to pull Stiles away, not sure if this is something that they should even _try_ to interrupt.

Stiles’ words finally fall quiet and the whole world pauses for one moment, two...

A rattling, gasping breath breaks the air and it only _then_ that Stiles’ tears fall.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Moj wilj_ \- My wolf
> 
>  _Jesteście zbyt cenni, aby tu zakończyć swój koniec_ \- You are far too precious to meet your end
> 
>  _Proszę_ \- Please


End file.
